


Reading Between the Lines

by Cinaed



Series: The Best of Carolina The Teenage Witch [40]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sabrina the Teenage Witch Fusion, Choices, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Magic, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25384582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: It's shaping up to be a memorable weekend when Carolina meets someone unexpected, Church faces a difficult choice, and Simmons temporarily upgrades his glasses.
Relationships: AI Program Epsilon | Leonard Church & Lavernius Tucker, Agent Carolina & Agent Washington (Red vs. Blue), Dexter Grif & Kaikaina Grif | Sister, Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Series: The Best of Carolina The Teenage Witch [40]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1183436
Comments: 19
Kudos: 42





	Reading Between the Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Slowly but surely writing more of Season Four! Work and life been draining me a bit, so updates will continue to be slow, but they will be coming, I promise. And wow, we've hit 40 episodes of Teenage Witch. Amazing! 
> 
> Thanks as always to Aryashi, especially for giving me the guacamole line which is one of my favorite lines in this whole AU and the greater love conversation.
> 
>  **ETA:** I promise that this fic has not been abandoned. I just had to go back to work in July and between that and some real life stuff, I have had no brain for writing. I am hopeful that things will settle down in January and I will be able to write again because I'm very excited to write the next chapter for you all!

One of the fluorescent lights in the store’s ceiling needs replacing. It’s buzzing faintly as it flickers above Carolina’s head, making her feel like someone with a brilliant idea in one of those cartoons Wash’s sisters are always watching.

She puts the oranges in her basket as Wash mutters from a nearby aisle, “Okay, I can’t remember what flavors everyone likes, so I’m just getting our favorites and crossing my fingers.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Carolina says, amused. “Let me know when you’re ready to checkout.”

They’re in luck. When they get to the front of the store, there’s an empty line.

Carolina sees a woman with a shopping cart full of groceries heading towards it. The race to the checkout is just a warm-up for tomorrow’s tournament, she tells herself, but still feels vaguely ridiculous as she beats the woman there.

She grabs the first orange and then looks up at the cashier.

Locus stares back.

Carolina should do something. She should freeze time and grab Wash and run, or demand to know what Locus is up to and why he’s apparently in Westbridge again.

Wash drops one of the Gatorade packs onto the conveyor belt. He grins at her. “Nice find. Think the lady behind us is pretty mad you got here first though.”

“Uh,” Carolina says, tensing as Locus moves, but all he does is silently ring up the Gatorade.

She resists the urge to pinch herself. Locus is checking a codebook for the number to ring up the oranges and wearing a name-tag that says Samuel. It all feels like a weird fever dream. This has to be a trap somehow, though she’d think Kimball would tell her if Locus escaped prison. And she didn't think Locus would carry a grudge against her. 

“Here’s the savings card,” Wash says, sidling around Carolina to hand it over. Then he nudges Carolina, giving her a weird look. “He’s gonna need that last orange.”

Carolina blinks. She realizes she’s still clutching an orange. Slowly she places it on the conveyor belt.

Just as slowly, Locus takes it and drops it into the bag with the others.

Maybe it’s a lookalike? Maybe all witches have mortal doppelgangers and Carolina’s just met the Locus version. But even as she thinks that, she knows it’s stupid. It’s definitely Locus. She’d seen the flicker of recognition in his eyes, even if now he’s wearing a blank look.

Locus finally speaks.

“That will be $13.64.”

Wash hands over the twenty that his mom gave them.

Then Carolina jumps, another surge of surprise jolting through her as a voice booms out from behind them.

“Now, Sam, do I really have to remind you what to say to our wonderful customers?”

It’s some guy who looks twenty at the most, wearing a name-tag that proclaims him the assistant manager. He’s giving Locus a disappointed look that’s just as condescending as his tone.

Locus' face twitches. Carolina braces herself for him to turn the guy into a toad.

Instead Locus’ expression smooths out. His mouth twitches weirdly, and Carolina realizes he’s trying to fake a smile. “Thank you for choosing us today. We hope to see you back again.”

The assistant manager actually tsks. “Aw, a little more enthusiasm next time, Sammy.”

Locus’ forehead creases, but he ignores the comment. He hands the savings card back to Wash. “Have a nice night.”

Carolina doesn’t know what’s going on, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling sympathetic. This guy reminds her of her awful boss from the summer, except somehow he’s even more condescending as he heads off to harass another cashier.

She lingers at the checkout. Curiosity replaces her shock. Locus doesn’t seem to be willing to hurt people, but she still doesn’t know what’s going on. She grabs the bag of oranges and says to Wash, “I’ll catch up with you in a second.”

Wash gives her a weird look. “Why?”

“Uh,” Carolina says.

She’s still trying to think up an excuse when Wash shakes his head and mutters, “Never mind, these things are heavy. Meet you at the car.”

Carolina waits awkwardly for Locus to finish ringing up the lady with the shopping cart. Then she coughs and says, “So.”

Locus sighs and reaches up, turning off the light that says his checkout is open. “Yes.”

His tone doesn’t invite questions, but Carolina still asks, “You’re, uh, who I think you are?”

Locus gives her a look that’s almost amused. “If you think I’m Locus, then yes.”

“Okay,” Carolina says. She thought she’d gotten over the shock, but a nervous laugh builds in her chest. She swallows it down. Somehow she doubts Locus would appreciate her laughing in his face, even if it’s not at him but the whole weird situation of Locus checking out her groceries. “That’s. Um. I… Why are you here?”

Now Locus’ eyebrows go up. He’s got an expressive face, now that she’s paying attention. He looks slightly confused. “To earn enough money to pay rent,” he says slowly, like he doesn’t understand the question.

Carolina blinks at him.

“Oh, you meant on earth, and not in the O--” Locus stops himself. He glances around. Apparently assured no one heard him, he shrugs. “I am in exile.” There’s another twist of his lips, almost rueful, and he adds, like he’s anticipating her next question, “And no, I don’t have magic.”

Carolina doesn’t know how to respond to that. An awkward, "Ah," escapes her lips.

Locus glances around again. “My manager will be upset if I'm idle--”

“Right,” Carolina says hastily, realizing how long Wash and his mom have been waiting outside for her. “Uh. Good luck? Sorry that, uh, the Council took your magic and made you--” She stops when Locus gives her a confused look.

“Took it? No, I gave it up.”

Carolina opens her mouth. She closes it. Then she says, “...You can _do_ that?”

Locus shrugs. “It was preferable to the alternative,” he says dryly.

Carolina winces a little. Yeah, the Council probably had some nasty punishments in store for him. His gaze flickers over her shoulder and she turns, realizing that the jerk from before is heading towards them. “Right,” she repeats. “Uh. Bye.”

“Oh, Sam,” the assistant manager says. From the glint in his eyes, he’s about to say something obnoxious.

Carolina grits her teeth. On impulse, she surreptitiously points her finger. There’s a faint blue glow at the tip of her finger and on the guy’s chest. Then she says, faking surprise, “Sir? Your name-tag is upside down.”

“What?” the guy says, blinking. Then he gives a yelp of dismay as he looks down and realizes she’s right. “How long have I--”

Carolina leaves, but not before she sees Locus look surprised and then amused.

* * *

Church is beginning to think learning how to drive is more trouble than it’s worth. He slouches in the backseat as Tucker turns on his turn signal and slowly takes a left.

“One more lap around the neighborhood and we’re done,” Tucker’s dad says, glancing out the window at the twilight.

Tucker makes a face. “I thought we were gonna try to parallel park today.”

Tucker’s dad huffs out a breath. He sounds equal parts amused and disbelieving. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You two are still figuring out how to stay in the right lane.”

“Why is it harder than it looks?” Tucker grumbles.

His dad chuckles. “You’ll get the hang of it.” His voice changes. “A little to the left, Lavernius. Let’s not hit someone’s mailbox.”

When they finish the loop through Tucker’s neighborhood, Tucker parks in front of his house.

His dad turns and smiles back at Church. “Okay, your turn and then I’ll drive you home.”

“Right,” Church says. He opens the door. When he gets into the driver’s seat, he sighs. One of the biggest problems he didn’t expect learning how to drive is having to adjust his seat and the mirrors. Somehow he never gets it quite right.

“Almost done?” Tucker’s mom asks, knocking on the passenger side window.

“Almost,” Tucker’s dad says.

Church realizes he’s distracted. He hastily points at his steering wheel and mutters under his breath, “Adjust my seat and mirrors so I can see and survive this practice without casualties.” There’s a small flare of blue and Church relaxes a little as the seat and mirror fix themselves.

He glances up in the rear view mirror and watches Tucker blink, paused in the middle of buckling himself in. “Uh,” Church says, and then leans down to fiddle with the seat, throwing in a grumbled, “Why isn’t it easier to adjust the seat?”

When he pops back up, Tucker must’ve bought it, because he looks amused. “Not my fault you’re shorter than me, dude.”

“Yeah, by like an inch and a half,” Church says. He fakes annoyance, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. That was a close call. Next time he’ll have to remember to get his hand on the adjustment stuff first before he does the spell.

When he gets back home, it’s to a dark house. Kimball’s at some library conference in Boston, Grey is working overnight at the hospital, and Carolina’s doing some tournament even though it’s too cold for sports.

He’s got vague plans to magic himself some pizza when there’s a familiar golden light.

“Aw, come on. Do all Quizmasters have terrible timing?” Church gripes.

Doyle doesn’t rise to the bait. In fact, he doesn’t even acknowledge Church’s complaint. He just looks solemn. “Church. You should have a seat.”

Church ignores the suggestion. Doyle’s looking like somebody died, which probably means Church forgot about some dumb assignment and Doyle is disappointed in him. He crosses his arms. “Whatever lesson we’re doing, can we do it over pizza? I’m--”

“No,” Doyle says, firmly enough that Church blinks.

Doyle fiddles with his glasses and then adjusts his bow-tie, frowning all the while. Finally he sighs. “Church. Your friend Lavernius saw you perform that spell.”

“What spell?” Church says, instinctively playing dumb.

Doyle gives him a level look. “If he had kept silent, perhaps we could have performed a simple memory spell, but he called Michael. You know the consequences of that.”

Church goes cold. He licks his lips, his mouth dry, and says, “Yeah, but it’s an easy fix. Just let me go mind-wipe them both. It’s fine. Everybody messes up once or twice, and besides, Caboose probably thinks Tucker is making stuff up. Just--” He stops as Doyle’s expression changes.

It’s almost worse that Doyle looks sad. “There are laws.”

“And there are loopholes,” Church argues, but Doyle shakes his head.

“Not for this.”

“Look--”

“Church,” Doyle says, and Church flinches. “You have a decision to make.”

* * *

“So, what are we having for dinner?” Kai asks. She throws a fistful of chips into her mouth, chewing and giving Simmons an expectant look.

Grif snorts before Simmons can figure out a polite way to ask how she’s even still hungry. He’s curled up on the back of the couch, his tail flicking idly against his sister’s shoulder. “You’re the witch. Come up with something yourself. Or we can just order--”

“No pizza.” Kai rolls her eyes. “Schist, you’re boring. Aren’t you tired of it after a hundred years?”

“Nope,” Grif says. He pauses for a second. “...How about a burger and--”

“Boring,” Kai announces. She tilts her head and glances at Simmons again. “Seriously, tell me you don’t let him have pizza every day.”

“Uh,” Simmons says, interrupted by Grif’s testy, “Let me? He’s not my boss.” He’s getting a now familiar sinking feeling in his stomach, recognizing the way Grif’s tail is flicking faster.

Grif and his sister argue a lot. It’s not the kind of arguments Simmons remembers with his brothers. Those were usually insults disguised as compliments or concern. Instead it’s the kind that ends in shouts and what Simmons can translate from the censorship spell as some really nasty insults and Kai stomping off to party in the Other Realm.

“He’s kind of your boss,” Kai says, wrinkling her nose.

“I’m really not,” Simmons says. “But, uh, maybe we could try something new. There’s a new Italian restaurant that just opened.”

“I could go for some garlic bread,” Grif says.

Kai shrugs. “Yeah, sure.” For a second Simmons thinks he’s defused the argument. Then her eyes light up. “No, wait, we’re totally doing sushi! You can’t turn down sushi, Dex. Don’t be lame.”

Grif snorts. “Uh. Nope. Remember when you wanted sushi?”

Kai rolls her eyes. Her eye starts to change color, and Simmons thinks, not for the first time, that he should try to write down which mood goes with which color. He thinks it’s annoyance. She certainly sounds annoyed. “That was like five years ago.”

“A live fish. In the kitchen.”

“It turned out awesome!” Kai says, crossing her arms against her chest.

“After a half hour trying to catch the fish!”

“...Why was the fish still alive?” Simmons asks, unable to help himself.

Grif’s ears twitch in his direction. Sarcasm colors his voice. “She didn't want it to not be fresh.”

Simmons glances towards his kitchen, imagining the chaos, and fights against a grimace.

“You’re being such a little witch,” Kai says. “Like you haven’t screwed up a spell or two!”

“Not a food spell,” Grif says, firmly enough that despite the uncomfortable situation that Simmons almost smiles. Trust Grif to know his food spells. “Okay, one time when I figured out you have to eat something first to be able to magic it up and have it taste right, but after that….”

“Uh huh,” Kai says. “How about that time you tried to impress that witch from Mars?”

Simmons blinks.

Grif’s ears twitch, going flat for a second. “We agreed not to talk about that.”

Simmons feels two simultaneous urges: one to hear all about this witch and the other to mind his own business and figure out a way to back out of the room and let Grif and Kai argue without him around. He ends up backing up slowly towards the kitchen, not fast enough to miss Kai laugh.

“No, you said you didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t promise schist.”

Kai glances towards Simmons, who freezes awkwardly in the doorway. “Bro wanted to get this Lani chick a flower because women love flowers I guess? But he couldn't just get her a normal flower, nope. Had to get some stupid rare one that smells like sunshine and rainbows and schist, which only grows one place, the top of a freaking volcano.” She grins at her brother. “Didn't she turn out to be allergic?”

Simmons forgets that he was trying not to join in the conversation. “Isn’t-- uh, isn’t that one of only two ways a witch can die?” His voice rises to an alarmed squeak. He flushes, but Kai is too busy smirking to notice.

“Yep. He almost fell in.” Kai makes a weird hand gesture, like she’s pantomiming Grif wobbling at the edge of the volcano. She does it with more relish than Simmons is comfortable with. “One second later and I’d be an only child.”

“Merlin, get your facts straight,” Grif growls. His fur’s bristling a little, and he licks his nose a few times. “I didn’t almost fall in. And her name was Mele.” He pauses, and adds a little quieter, “I think. It definitely wasn’t _Lani_.”

“Tell that to the muscle I pulled yanking your dumb butt away from the edge!” Kai snorts again. “And I still grabbed the stupid flower for Lani. You don’t deserve me.”

Simmons doesn’t have fur to bristle, but he fights against a frown. Kai could sound less amused by Grif almost dying. It’s not like Grif had had nine lives at the time.

“Whatever,” Grif says. “I want garlic bread.”

* * *

Carolina flops onto the hotel bed and stares up at the ceiling.

She still can’t wrap her mind around the Locus stuff. She doesn’t know what’s weirder, the fact that he can’t do magic anymore or the fact that he got a job at a grocery store. Either way, Kimball definitely doesn’t know, and Carolina isn’t planning on telling her. It’d get awkward fast.

“Nervous about tomorrow?” Wash’s mom asks, sounding a little amused.

Carolina turns her head. “Oh. Uh.” She is, a little. It’s a tournament, and Wash’s mom has paid for a whole hotel room and driven a couple hours. Carolina doesn’t want to screw things up and make her regret it. Not that she thinks they’ll lose but still. She ends up settling for a shrug.

“You’ll do great,” Wash’s mom says. “Both of you.”

“We better,” Wash says. “Or Sarge is going to make us work even harder.” He makes a face. “Plus losing’s not exactly a great start to the season.”

“Yeah,” Carolina agrees.

Wash leans against the edge of the bed. “I was gonna go see what the vending machine has to offer.”

Carolina sits up. “I’ll go too.” After a few hours in a car she needs to stretch her legs.

Wash raises an eyebrow. “You know they probably don’t have healthy snacks, right?”

“They might.”

“Uh huh,” Wash says, a corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “Bet there’s a whole row of trail mix and dried fruit and all that stuff.”

The healthiest choice turns out to be miniature pretzels. Carolina pretends not to notice Wash’s amused look as she buys some.

“So, are you actually nervous about tomorrow?” Wash asks, still apparently debating between a Twix and a Snickers. “Cause I know for a fact that you’re the fastest person on our team.”

“There’s always someone faster,” Carolina points out. She shrugs again at his skeptical look. “I don’t know. Tournaments seem bigger than usual meets.”

She’s surprised by the way his expression changes. She doesn’t recognize it for awkward sympathy until he presses a button on the machine and says, “Sorry Doctor Grey or Ms. Kimball couldn’t come.”

“Oh.” Carolina hadn’t thought about it. It would be nice to have them watching, but she’s used to missing the people who should be in the stands. Her internal calendar reminds her that it’s only seven months until she’ll be able to look up and see her mom cheering her on. It still feels like forever. Still, she can’t explain that to Wash. She ends up shrugging again. “Next time.”

When he still looks a little concerned, she smiles at him and grabs the Twix out of the machine. “Hey, I’ve got your mom and Sarge. Sarge is a whole cheering squad.”

Wash snorts, but he relaxes a little. “You’re not wrong.”

She tosses the Twix at him.

He yelps in surprise, juggling it before he catches it.

“And I’m not that worried about the tournament. I’m not the one eating Twix the night before.”

Wash rolls his eyes, amused. “One Twix is not gonna make a difference.”

Carolina puts on a disbelieving look. She starts to jog backwards, fishing a pretzel out of the bag. “You sure?” she asks. She pops the pretzel into her mouth and grins as she chews on it.

“You’re right. I’m going to totally lose tomorrow,” Wash deadpans. “Why didn’t I eat something healthy and boring like you? Any scouts will be disappointed, and I’ll never get a track scholarship, and I’ll have to--”

He’s still making up stuff about his inevitable doom as he starts unwrapping the Twix and Carolina backs up around the corner.

* * *

“You have two choices,” Doyle says. “The Witches Council will not stand for mortals knowing of magic and telling others. Normally they would have you turn him to stone and be done with it, but I argued for some leniency.”

“You did?” Church says.

His brief hope is squashed immediately when Doyle says, “Yes. They lessened the punishment. You remember the Rip Van Winkle spell from your spellbook, I’m sure. You will put Lavernius to sleep for ten years.”

Church’s not sure what his expression looks like, but Doyle says quickly, “It’s rather moderate for the Council! By the time he wakes up, you will be elsewhere and anything he says will be seen as a product of his comatose mind.”

Church stares at him. Is he serious? Does he really think that’s a good option?

“And then there’s the other choice. Instead, you could give up being a witch.”

“That-- give up my-- so I’ve got a choice of putting Tucker in a coma for _ten years_ or losing my magic?”

Doyle looks even sadder, and Church squashes the urge to turn him into stone for acting like this is the Council being kind. “You have twelve hours to decide. Just call my name when you’ve made your choice.”

He disappears.

Church had ignored Doyle’s suggestion to sit down, but now his knees feel weak. He flops back onto the couch. His stomach roils. He tries to picture ten years of Tucker in a hospital bed. Ten years might be nothing for a witch, but it won’t be for Tucker.

But giving up magic means giving up centuries. A few months ago, it might’ve meant straight up dying, dissolving into whatever ingredients Leonard slapped together to make him.

He takes off his glasses and rubs his fists against his eyes. “Crap.”

Rubbing at his eyes doesn’t distract him from the problem. He thinks about Tucker’s parents. Caboose. Tucker would miss out on ten years of his life, and that includes everything that happens to the people he cares about. They’re all mortal too. What if something happened to one of them while Tucker was asleep?

He thinks of Carolina too. She’s already going to lose her mom too soon. He doesn’t want to be another person she’s going to lose.

Both options suck.

“There’s gotta be a loophole,” he mumbles. “Rule 803. There’s always a loophole.”

Church racks his brain. He knows Doyle said there wasn’t a loophole for this, but he’s wrong. If Leonard can get around the rule of not visiting Carolina, he can come up with something to save Tucker and himself. He just has to think.

He drops his hands from his eyes, staring at the spot where Doyle was standing. He wishes Carolina was here. Or Kimball. Maybe not Grey. He doesn’t think she’d see ten years asleep as much of a sacrifice on anyone’s part.

Church gets up. He’s not hungry anymore, an anxious knot in his gut. He’ll figure something out.

“There’s always a loophole,” he repeats.

When he leaves, he almost forgets to lock the door behind him.

* * *

Simmons thinks that might be the end of it, until he’s washing the dishes and hears Kai’s voice rise in the living room.

“So, bro, I know Simmons is still pretending he’s mortal, but there’s this party in the Other Realm--”

“No,” Grif says.

Simmons can’t see him, but he knows Grif’s tail is already starting to twitch. He doesn’t know why Kai is so insistent on trying to get Grif to party, but it feels like every other day that she’s inviting him to places and then getting annoyed when he says no.

Sure enough, she groans loudly. “Dex, what the duck? Have you just been sitting on this couch for two years or what?”

“No,” Grif repeats. There’s a beat of silence, and then he offers up a deadpan, “Sometimes I sleep on Simmons’ bed.”

“Dex,” Kai says, drawing out his name.

“Okay, okay. ...Sometimes I terrorize the neighbors.”

Grif is probably talking about Locus, whom he has somehow kept Kai from discovering lives upstairs. Simmons still pauses in washing the dishes to come to the door to shoot a suspicious look at Grif. “Are we going to get another call from animal control? Leave Mr. MacGruff alone. He already hates you.”

“Hey, I haven’t bothered that narc in months,” Grif says. He snorts. “He went on some diet. No more good food to steal.”

Kai had looked excited for a second, but when Grif answers Simmons, she sighs. “Lame, bro. Why can’t you be fun like everyone else I know? Okay, Simmons isn’t that much fun, but at least he’s interesting with his weird mortal shtick. You’re really just gonna sit in this apartment for eight years?”

“Nah, I’m gonna get a job,” Grif snaps. “There’s another familiar, Salem. He says there’s big money in the cat show circuit. Was thinking I’d throw on some ribbons and crap and get some cash.”

“Really?” Kai says, back to looking excited.

“No.”

“Aw.”

Simmons shifts uncomfortably, not sure if he should go back to washing the dishes or intervene. He feels awkward, a little like how he’d felt whenever his brothers made fun of him for not going to watch a game of the Patriots or the Red Sox or do something “normal people” do. He starts to say, “I think--”

Kai plants her hands on her hips. “This is why you should’ve celebrated my centennial with me. You would’ve been too busy to get catified. You--”

“Grif, can I talk to you in the kitchen?”

Simmons’ voice comes out sharper and higher than he means. Both Grif and his sister blink at him. He flushes but doesn’t take back the request.

“Okay,” Grif says slowly. He jumps off the couch and follows Simmons into the kitchen.

“Uh,” Simmons says. Now that he’s got Grif away from Kai, he flounders for the right thing to say. He rubs at the back of his neck, grimacing a little. If Grif wasn’t sitting directly at his feet, he’d probably give into the urge to pace around the kitchen table. “So.”

“Spit it out, dude,” Grif says, sounding a little amused.

“Uh. So Kai’s been here for a couple months.”

“Yeah.”

Simmons takes a deep breath. The idea of confronting Kai makes his stomach twist, but he still manages to get out the next words mostly steadily, if a bit squeakier than he’d like. “If she’s, um, upsetting you, I can...tell her to leave.”

Grif blinks at him. “What?”

Simmons shifts his weight from one foot to the other, half-bracing himself for the argument he might have to have with Kai. “Just, it’s technically my apartment and I can, uh--”

“What?” Grif says, louder, and the confusion in his voice dries up the words in Simmons’ mouth.

“She,” Simmons says, waving his hands towards the door. “She keeps pressuring you about stuff, so….”

He’s about to launch into details, like that nasty joke about Grif almost dying, when Grif stands, circling him the way he’d wanted to pace earlier. His tail and ears are twitching. As Simmons twists his head a little to try to look at Grif’s face, Grif says, “So you want to kick her out?”

Simmons can’t figure out Grif’s tone. It’s not exactly enthusiastic, but then, who would be about having a conflict with their sibling? He squirms in place, heat creeping into his face. “If you need me to. I will. Uh. Ask her.”

“Why would I--” Grif pauses, tail waving slowly. He licks the tip of his nose. “If she’s bugging you, just tell her. Can’t promise she won’t laugh about it, but if something’s really annoying you, she’ll probably listen.”

“She’s not bugging me,” Simmons says, tasting the lie. “I mean. Okay. She does stuff that bugs me, like bringing her date home without checking, but I just-- it’s mostly-- she jokes about you dying! And keeps trying to drag you to stuff after you told her no, and she--”

Simmons is getting more and more indignant. He doesn’t realize Grif has stopped circling him until he feels a paw patting at his knee. He stops and looks down.

Grif stares up at him, his ears up and his gaze unblinking. The next words out of Grif’s mouth are mumbled under his breath, but Simmons still understands them. “Right. Your family sucked.” His tail twitches. He lowers his paw, pausing only to lick it before he backs up and blinks up at Simmons. “Uh. Crap. How to explain. Kai and I are…. We’re cool?”

Simmons’ doubt must show in his face because Grif gives a shake of his head.

“Seriously.”

“You’re cool with her joking about you dying, and--” Simmons gestures towards the door. “She just said it was your fault that you got catified!”

“Is that _what_ you think she said?” Grif asks.

“Uh, that’s what she said! I mean, not in those exact words, but it was implied!”

“ _Wow_ ,” Grif mumbles. “Dude, you are so wrong. She just meant we’re safer together.”

Simmons frowns. “That’s not what it sounded like.”

Grif snorts. “You've known her for three months. You'll figure her out.”

Simmons wants to believe him, but he remembers defending his family and excusing all the passive-aggressive insults and backhanded compliments. He takes a deep breath. “You don’t have to make excuses for her. Sometimes it’s hard to, uh, see how--” He stops, back to rubbing the back of his head with nervous fingers. “It wasn’t your fault you got catifi-- the Council turned you into a cat. They’re idiots. And--”

“Dude,” Grif says, but it’s softer. “What’s it gonna take to convince you Kai’s cool?”

Simmons blinks at him.

“Wait, easy answer. Magic.” Grif’s ears go up and a feline smile stretches across his face. “I’ve got an idea. Go grab your spellbook.”

“My spellbook?” Simmons repeats.

“Yeah.”

Simmons comes back with his spellbook, Grif is waiting for him on top of the kitchen table.

Grif looks pleased with himself. “Okay, look at the index.”

Simmons looked at the index before when he first photocopied Church’s spellbook, drinking in all the different types of spells he was going to learn. There were so many. He has no idea what Grif has in mind, but he flips to the index anyway. He starts skimming the list. “What am I looking for?”

“Uh, communication? It’ll be there somewhere.”

Simmons finds communication in the index. He’s about to turn to those pages when he gets distracted by one of the communication spells. “...Footnotes? How is there a spell about footnotes?”

“Oh yeah, that’s the one,” Grif says, instead of answering.

Simmons shoots him a dubious look.

He gets to the page with the footnotes spell and gets even more dubious. “You sure?”

“Just do it.”

Simmons sighs. He reads the spell one more time, and then points at his glasses. They might have ordered Italian, but Kai had magically changed into a new outfit, so there should be effluvium enough for this spell to work.

“Misunderstanding brings strife and fear, provide me the notes that make things clear!”

Simmons feels the spell click a second before his glasses glow with a red light.

“Yo, Dex!” Kai says, shoving the door open and sticking her head inside. “You gonna be a stick-in-the-mud or what?”

Simmons winces, blinking, as glowing red letters scroll across his lens like a computer screen.

 _Good evening, Dex, are you all right? I am offering an opportunity to socialize because your lifestyle concerns me but I do not want to be overbearing_.

Simmons squints. “But--”

“One of your parties? Nah,” Grif says, whiskers twitching when Kai groans. “Don’t get too crazy. I’m not bailing you out.”

_I acknowledge your offer but must decline because I am not comfortable being a familiar in a mostly witch space. Thank you for your concern. Do not do anything that would get you arrested._

Simmons fiddles with his glasses but the words don’t change. He stares between Grif and Kai as Kai strides over to the table. When she starts talking, he finds himself watching her expression.

“Ugh, lame,” Kai says. The slight crease in her forehead now looks less like annoyance and more like concern. She taps the end of Grif’s tail and grins down at him. “Don’t wait up.”

_Very well. I am here to listen if you ever wish to speak of your worries. Rest at your regular hour because I intend to find someone and--_

Simmons hastily whisks off his glasses, going slightly pink.

“Ugh, I don’t wanna hear about it,” Grif groans.

Simmons puts his glasses back on in time to catch some of the latest translation.

_\--be safe._

Kai pours herself a glass of water from the sink. She knocks it back like a shot and then grins at Simmons. “How about you? Gonna be as lame as bro?”

_I would like to socialize with you and learn if you are truly a good friend to my brother._

Simmons blinks. “Uh. No thank you. I have a book I was going to--”

“Boring,” Kai announces. She drinks another glass of water and then crouches down so she and Grif are eye to eye. “Want me to bring back some jalapeno poppers? The bar’s got them sprinkled with Venusian salt. They’re the best.”

_Another time then. Would you like me to bring back some of your favorite comfort food? I feel guilty about leaving you alone to get in trouble with the Council and want to share some of what I experienced with you._

Simmons’ chest twinges a little at the affection radiating off the words. Now that he's listening and watching, he can hear the affection entwined with the teasing. 

“Okay,” he says when Kai has left for the party. “I guess I was reading that wrong.”

“You think?” Grif says, a little amused. “Like I said. She’s cool.”

_Yes, my sister loves me. I am sorry your brothers were malicious cretins._

“Thanks,” Simmons says before he realizes how much the spoken words and subtitles clash. He coughs when Grif looks confused. “For, uh clarifying.”

“No problem,” Grif says. “Though I gotta admit, I kind of wanted to watch you try to kick Kai out.”

_It is not amusing when you are genuinely upset. But I must admit, it would have been hilarious to watch your attempt to force Kai from the apartment._

Simmons laughs. Sometimes everything is subtext or opposite of what people seem to be saying. And sometimes Grif says exactly what he means. “Yeah, would’ve been really fun, being a toad.”

“Oh, toads are boring. She would’ve done something random.”

“Great….”

* * *

Church walks a couple blocks on autopilot before he realizes the neighborhood looks familiar.

He’s about three blocks from Caboose’s house. He jams his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt, hesitating. There’s always a loophole, but even in his own head the words sound more desperate than true. He could wipe Caboose’s memory of Tucker telling him he was a witch, but Doyle might be right. It might not even matter.

He rocks back and forth in place, ignoring the weird look from a jogger. They’re the one jogging in March when it’s freezing outside. They’re the weird one.

Excited barking makes him jump. He looks up, and gets a useless second to try to brace himself.

He still ends up sprawled on the hard pavement as Freckles plants his enormous paws on his chest and bowls him backwards. “Dang it, Freckles.”

“Hi, Church!” Caboose says happily.

Julia and Naomi both wave.

“Uh, hi,” Church says. He shoves at Freckles. “Don’t lick my face!”

Freckles compromises by draping across Church’s thighs, effectively pinning Church to the sidewalk. He pants happily. Caboose and his sisters don’t immediately try to drag him off, so Church guesses he’s trapped now.

Trapped in more ways than one. Church hadn’t forgotten how screwed he is, but he’d managed to get distracted from it by Freckles. Now his mouth goes dry again. He catches some of Freckles’ thick fur between his fingers, twisting it as he looks up at Caboose.

Caboose beams back, though his grin fades a little. “Are you okay, Church? You’re not even trying to shove Freckles away!”

“That’s why you think I’m upset?” Church mutters, but Caboose just keeps staring at him. “I, uh. I have a friend who’s in trouble.”

“Tucker,” Caboose says knowingly.

Church grimaces. Right. Caboose can probably guess he’s not happy that Tucker spilled the beans about magic, but Caboose doesn’t even know about the consequences. Honestly he’s surprised that Caboose didn’t immediately start asking about magic.

“Uh. No. A friend from Alaska,” he lies. “He’s got a...a tough choice and both options suck.”

“Oh,” Caboose says, frowning. “What kind of choice?”

“One, uh, where…” Church struggles for the right words. “Where he can either do something bad to someone and help himself, or do something bad to himself and his friend will be safe.”

“How bad?” Julia asks. Her eyes widen. “Is he gonna get arrested?”

“Uh--”

“Oh, he’s gonna go to jail!” Naomi says, staring at him, fascinated. “Did they break the law? Did they steal something? Natalie, my friend, her brother stole--”

“Sure, they stole something and they’re going to jail,” Church lies again. He guesses Tucker’s coma would be a little like being in a prison of his own body, he thinks. The thought twists up his stomach again. “He...messed up. So he can either let his friend get in trouble or...admit it and take the punishment.”

Caboose keeps frowning. “Well, I would take the punishment for you.”

Church sighs. Of course Caboose would. “Thanks, Caboose.”

Freckles nudges his hand with a wet nose, letting out a questioning woof.

“And Freckles would too,” Caboose adds earnestly.

“Yeah, well, your dog’s obsessed with me,” Church mumbles, but his heart isn’t in the joke. He pats Freckles’ nose and then pushes the dog’s head away when Freckles tries to lick his hand.

“I hope your friend doesn’t get in too much trouble,” Julia says. It’s like looking at a miniature Caboose, except she's a girl with slightly darker hair. They have the same earnest unblinking stare, the same way of lifting up their chins when they’re being solemn.

Church manages a weak smile. “Yeah.” He nudges at Freckles again. “Get off.”

“Freckles, up,” Naomi commands, tugging at his leash.

Freckles heaves a deep sigh but stands.

“Gotta go,” Church mumbles.

“Bye, Church!” Caboose pauses for a second, chewing on his bottom lip. For a second Church thinks he’s going to try and give him some more advice, but instead Caboose adds quickly, “Tell him your very best friend says good luck.”

The jealous note in Caboose's voice startles a snort out of Church. “Okay.”

His amusement lasts for a few seconds. By the time he rounds the corner, he’s got his hands jammed into his sweatshirt’s pockets again. Tension knots his shoulders. Every step he takes back towards home feels like it takes a million years and a split second, too slow and too fast at the same time.

When he gets back home, he throws himself down onto the couch. He almost says Doyle’s name. He stops himself. Instead he points a finger towards the coffee table.

The smell of pizza hits his nose first. Then chocolate.

He figures he’ll need consolation food after all this, but just looking at the huge pizza and the pile of knockoff magical candy doesn’t even start to cheer him up. And his stomach is doing too many somersaults for him to even think of eating before he makes his choice.

“Right,” he mumbles, even that single word catching in his throat a little. He slouches lower on the couch, resisting the urge to pull his knees to his chest like a baby. “Doyle.”

Doyle appears in a sparkle of gold. He looks a little surprised, blinking owlishly at Church, and then actually fishes a pocket watch out of his pocket. “It’s been far less than twelve hours. You have more time if you’re still deciding--”

“I can’t take ten years from Tucker. That’s not fair.”

Doyle blinks again. His expression is unreadable. “Church. You understand the consequences?”

“Hard to forget them,” Church says sharply. “No more magic.”

“And you understand that it will be perma--”

“Dude, I said I get it,” Church snaps. “You and the Council might think you’re being nice and generous, but ten years is a lot to mortals! It’s prom, and graduation, and college, and, and all that stuff. Can we just get this over with?”

“Very well,” Doyle says quietly. “Hold out your finger.”

Church slowly unclenches his fist. He holds up his pointer finger towards Doyle.

Doyle pulls out a vial from his pocket.

It’s a weird sensation, losing your magic. Different than when Church had fallen apart. That had mostly been headaches and confusion. This feels like all of his energy is being drained out of his finger, leaving behind an exhaustion that settles into his bones.

Sweat prickles at his forehead, the back of his neck, under his arms. He’d already been sporting a bunch of acne on his forehead since not even witches can figure out a cure, but now it itches. He’s pretty sure if he dabbed at his face with a napkin right now, it’d be greasier than the pizza abandoned on the coffee table.

“Ugh. Carolina’s gonna make me eat healthier,” he mumbles, his voice catching on Carolina’s name. He’s really not looking forward to that conversation. Or the one with Leonard.

“How are you feeling?” Doyle asks.

“Peachy,” Church says, wiping at his forehead again.

He’s caught by surprise when Doyle’s worried look gives way to a weird, watery smile.

“Well, Vanessa was certainly right about you.”

Before Church can ask what that means, Kimball pops into the room. She appears close enough to Doyle that he lets out a startled yelp and almost trips over the coffee table as he tries to get out of her way.

“Of course I was,” Kimball says, not batting an eye at Doyle’s surprise. Apparently library conferences are boring or maybe they’re exhausting, because she’s got pajamas on and a wrap covering her hair, and was clearly about to go to bed. She smiles warmly at Church. “Though I thought it would take a little longer to decide.”

“Uh,” Church says. Her words and her smile don’t match up with the fact that she apparently knew about his choice. Why is she looking so happy that he gave up his magic?

“Oh, this is my least favorite part of being a Quizmaster!” Doyle actually gets out a handkerchief and starts dabbing at his eyes. “But we’re so proud of you!”

Church stares at him. “ _Proud_?” His voice cracks. Sure, he knows it was the right decision, but they could both be a little sadder that he’s mortal.

Doyle sniffs. He wipes at his eyes again. “As the great Bard once said: there is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends!”

“Okay, you _have_ to know that’s the Bible. I know that and I’m…” Church pauses, briefly sidetracked by his very weird existence. “Sort of Jewish,” he concludes with a shrug that makes him even more aware of his sweat. Do all mortal teens sweat this much?

“What Donald is trying to explain is that this was a test,” Kimball says.

The words don’t make sense.

Doyle wrings the tears from his handkerchief. “This is one of the most important tests you have to take before getting your license.” His weird, watery smile widens. “Perhaps the most important. But you’ve proven that you put others before your magic.”

“A _test_?!” Church hears his voice go up and get loud. He leaps to his feet. His expression makes Doyle take another hasty step back, knocking his shin against the table. “You-- Why did you take my magic if it was a stupid--”

“We had to be certain you would go through wit--”

Church almost grabs his stupid bow-tie and chokes him with it.

“Church,” Kimball says. When he keeps glaring at Doyle, she repeats his name a little more firmly. “I understand you’re upset. But this is the only thing we agree on. It’s an important test. And you passed.”

“But--”

Kimball glances at Doyle. “Hand back his magic,” she advises dryly.

“Oh! Yes!” Doyle says, looking a little uneasy.

Church snatches the stupid vial out of his hand. He closes his eyes as his magic washes back over him. The exhaustion and sweating ebbs away, though he still feels slightly sticky and gross. He needs a shower.

“That’s a dumb test,” he mumbles.

“We need to know that you won’t put your magic before people,” Kimball says.

Church snorts. “Yeah. The Council might need a refresher.” Then he blinks. “Wait, did Tucker see me do magic or not?”

“Ah,” Doyle says, looking uncomfortable. “There is a specific spell we may use for this test. It makes a mortal more alert to magic but that mortal will immediately forget what they witness. So yes, he did, but he has no memory of it, and he didn’t tell--”

Kimball puts an arm out before Church can get to Doyle.

“Well, ah, congratulations,” Doyle says. He laughs nervously. “You are one more step closer to your witch’s license!”

“Take a breath,” Kimball advises Church. Her voice is calm, and Church is reminded that she’s probably given dozens of this same test. “You have your magic. You’re not in trouble. And you made the right choice. It’s an uncomfortable test, but you passed with flying colors.” One corner of her mouth turns up. She glances down at the half-forgotten food. “Maybe I’ll even let Emily make you a second cake tomorrow.”

“Like cake is gonna make this better,” Church says. “...What kind of cake?”

“Your choice.”

“Fine,” Church says. He throws himself back down on the couch, reaching for the pizza.

“Goodnight,” Kimball says.

“Yes, ah, good--”

Kimball disappears halfway through Doyle’s sentence.

He sighs. “Goodnight, Church. Well done.” He vanishes before Church can think of something sarcastic to say.

“Better be the best cake ever,” Church mumbles to himself and takes an enormous bite of pizza.

* * *

“--Sarge tried to give a speech. He was crying so much no one understood him,” Carolina says, grinning fondly at the memory. If he’s this emotional over winning a tournament, she can’t wait to see how he reacts when they win State.

“What a dear man. Sounds like a reason to celebrate,” Grey says. She lifts her wine glass.

Carolina smiles and raises her water.

“Congrats,” Church says, waving his soda. He grins before his grin goes slightly crooked. “At least _you_ had a good weekend.”

“You didn’t?” she asks.

“Doyle interrupted his weekend,” Kimball says with an unreadable look.

“Understatement,” Church says. His expression brightens for a second. “But at least I got some cake out of it.”

Carolina grins. “So Doyle finally learned how to bribe you to do homework?”

“Something like that,” Church says with a roll of his eyes. Then he blinks. He leans in towards Kimball. He probably means to whisper, but it’s not exactly a big table and he’s also been hanging out with Caboose for too long. Carolina hears his muttering. “Wait, does Carolina have to do that test too?”

“What test?” Carolina asks.

Church winces while Grey giggles. She reaches out and pats Carolina’s arm with fingers that are painted a silvery lavender. “One you don’t have to take.”

Kimball nods in agreement.

“Wait, she--” Church stops. Again he blinks. His mouth twists and he looks slightly amused. “Yeah. Honestly, that makes sense.”

Apparently they’re going to have a whole conversation about her like she’s not sitting right there. “What test?” Carolina repeats, unable to hide her annoyance. 

“It--”

Kimball interrupts Grey, who has a gleam in her eyes like she was about to make a joke. “Church had to decide what his magic meant to him and if he was willing to give it up to protect someone else.”

“To make sure we care about people more than magic,” Church says, rolling his eyes again.

Carolina snorts. “The Council needs to take that test.”

Church grins. “That’s what I said!”

Carolina smiles back for a second before everyone’s words sink in. “Wait, I don’t have to take that test? Why not?”

Grey giggles again. “Oh, well, I suspect that dear Donald recognized your…” She pauses, cocking her head to the side like she’s searching for the right words. “...present focus.” She pats Carolina’s arm again. “It isn’t unique among half-mortals.”

Kimball nods. Her expression softens. “As a Quizmaster, you get a sense for which ones you give the test to and the ones you...don’t.”

“What they’re trying to say is that you’d give up your magic for corn chips and some good guacamole,” Church deadpans.

Bristling, Carolina opens her mouth to argue. Then she actually thinks about it. She imagines Doyle giving her that test back in November, before Church almost died, how much she hated her magic because it was keeping her from her mom. She wouldn’t give it up now for guacamole, but even now she knows that Church and her dad love magic a lot more than she does. She sighs.

“Yeah, okay,” she says.

“Be glad you didn’t have to take that test,” Church says, grimacing. “I was mortal for like five minutes. It sucked! I was so sweaty.” He pokes his forehead. “And somehow I managed to get ten more zits….”

Carolina’s about to say something about his diet, when his eyes narrow and he points at her.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Carolina says, amused.

“You were thinking it.”

Carolina raises her eyebrows. “Thinking’s against the rules?”

“It is when you’re gonna try to make me eat a salad or something.”

“I’m such a terrible sister,” Carolina deadpans. “Wanting you to eat healthy.”

“You really are,” Church says, and manages to look earnest for about five seconds before he grins.

Carolina thinks of Locus, bagging groceries, his magic taken away by the Council. Curiosity replaces most of her amusement. She wonders if mortality feels weird to a witch. She wonders if being mortal had felt like November again for Church. She eyes him but he’s drinking his soda and looking normal except for the already mentioned extra pimples on his face.

Still, when Grey and Kimball are distracted, she leans over to him. Unlike Church, she knows how to whisper. Neither adult looks at them as she says under her breath, “Sounds like a hard test. You okay?”

Church blinks at her. Then he smiles. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> **Dishonorable Mention**
> 
> 4x10 - Water, Wind, and Fire 
> 
> Not all Quizmaster episodes can be Reading Between the Lines and Cat for a Day. This one, in which Doyle assigns Carolina and Church the task of transforming themselves into water, fire, and wind, could’ve been interesting, but instead it’s just kind of bland. And while we understand that Carolina and Church’s storyline this season is pretty separate from Simmons and Grif’s, it still felt a little weird that even when Church got himself stuck in the water fountain at school, Carolina didn’t think to ask Simmons for help.


End file.
